


No Tan Lines Here

by annieke



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: M/M, PWP, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-15
Updated: 2013-06-15
Packaged: 2017-12-15 02:35:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/844340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annieke/pseuds/annieke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What better way to end a shitty day than with a little bit of couch porn?<br/>...and no, Steve has no discernible tan lines. but then, Danny knew that already.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Tan Lines Here

**Author's Note:**

> Totally spur of the moment porn. I'm trying to work on my Big Bang fic, and ended up being hijacked into writing this mindless smut instead.

With a weary sigh, Danny drops his overtired body onto Steve's sofa, bones and muscles feeling something akin to overcooked noodles. He can't suppress the yawn that stretches his mouth wide open as he slides down into the leather, grabbing the remote and marveling at how well he manages to find the on button with eyes barely half mast.

The TV springs to life in a whirl of bright color and flashing movement against the darkened room, and he turns down the volume with no real interest in whatever trashy program comes on because like he tells Grace, TV is stupid and mindless (never mind _Diners, Drive-ins and Dives_ , what he watches on TV is strictly between him and Guy Fieri) and that's that.

Strangely enough, however, stupid and mindless seems to be the _exact_ thing he needs right at this very moment to help close up the gaping holes left in his head from two days of being surrounded by the ultimate in sheer stupidity otherwise known as the Federal Bureau of a Bunch of Complete Idiots. Or the FBI. Whatever.

Requisitioned to assist with some FBI planned operation that should have resulted in a clean sweep of a top level drug and gun-running organization supposedly, according to the FBI's intel, using ports in and out of Oahu, instead turned into the most overblown, out of proportion, disorganized situation that went to hell in a hand basket faster than anyone could even scream, 'What in the fucking fuck is happening here?"

A ridiculously small number of guns were confiscated, a fraction of the volume expected. No drugs whatsoever. The few arrests made were most likely going to result in most of those guys being turned loose on various technicalities. It was just so ridiculous. A fiasco. FUBAR, as Steve would say. Did say. Numerous times, actually, to the point Danny can still hear it echoing around his head along with Steve telling him that if they, Five-O, had been in charge, none of this shit would have happened…

Which just makes Danny grin inwardly as, yeah, Steve is probably right, and just how truly well-oiled is their small team now after three years of working together? Pretty damned slick, actually, and, oh, his brain suddenly snags a bit on the words 'well-oiled' and 'slick' which may or may not lead to a little pleasurable movement down there in the crotch area of his slacks because he's here at Steve's house, all but poured into his leather sofa, and thinking of well-oiled and Steve make him…need to stop.

After what they all just went through the past two days, after hours of waiting in the ER, after finally getting back from the hospital, and after seeing Steve's shoulder being reduced from weird angle to _okay, you now look a little more human and a lot less broken zombie_ , sex should be the very last thing on his mind. They're all exhausted. He's exhausted, after all. That whole limp noodle thing.

Still….

He sighs again and orders his libido to climb out of the driver's seat, his breath blowing out on a long exhale as he half registers the images flickering across the TV screen and thinking if he's feeling this tired, how much more spent must Steve be feeling?

Rain pelts at the windows. Still pelts at the windows, that is, as it has been for pretty much two days solid.

Which, okay. Yeah. He can admit—to himself, at least, because actually uttering anything out loud would cause a whole lot of shit to rain down on him by any one of a number of people--that he misses the sun. He does, he misses the too hot, too bright, too sunny Hawaiian sun, yes. There. He does. He wants the sun back because this rain, this never ending rain is just piling even more misery onto an already miserable situation that is, thank the fucking heavens, over for now. Damn Feds.

A crashing noise booms from the kitchen, this followed by a bang and a curse—then a sharper curse, and he shakes his head with a half grin.

"Hey, babe? You doin' okay out there?"

"Yeah," Steve calls back. "I'm good. It's all good. I got it!"

A few more loud noises do absolutely nothing to reassure, and Danny calls out again, gritting his teeth and already pushing himself off the cushions because Steve would tell him everything was great, fine, just fucking dandy even while somehow trying to duct tape back an accidentally severed finger or something, for god's sake. He wouldn't put it past him, by any stretch. "Steve—sure I can't lend you an extra hand or arm, maybe?"

"Is that supposed to be funny? Because, you know, Danny, it's not. You're not."

"Nah, not trying to be funny," he calls back. “Although, I must beg to differ; I am a funny guy by nature. You live for my witty witticisms, I know this for a fact.”

“Witty witticisms?"

"Yes, actually. Witty, very witty. My quick quips, as it were. They're part of my charm, don't even pretend you don't know this and that you don't love it." 

"Oh, by quick quips, you mean that sarcastic mouth of yours. That's the part of you I'm supposed to love?” Steve says, grinning, slowly making his way toward the sofa with one hand holding a bowl of something, dip or salsa, and a large bag of tortilla chips tucked between body and elbow. Danny takes them from him, not at all surprised that Steve wasn’t just in the kitchen getting water so he could wash down his next dose of painkillers like he said he was.

"Junk food, that's so awesome. Just what this evening calls for after two days from hell--you so go, babe. Tostitos and everything. I seriously didn't think you had it in you." He snaps his fingers. "Wait - you know what else we need—or me, anyway—" Beer. Beer. He's thinking, yes, beer. If anyone needed a beer right that very moment it was him, and just when he thinks he ought to go grab one or six from the ‘fridge, two bottles suddenly appear from inside the sling holding Steve's damaged arm.

Danny stares. "Amazing."

Steve chuckles. "Hey. Always have a couple tricks up my sleeve."

"You mean sling."

Steve glances at the navy blue sling holding his arm to his body with a look that clearly says there's no way that sling is staying on for long. "Don’t remind me."

"Got anything else in there?" Danny asks, gesturing with a beer bottle in each hand, and then watches Steve's hand delve back down in there, only to reappear with a bottle opener in his hand. "You, my friend, are a wonder."

"Amazing and a wonder? Wow, Danny. Can I get that tattooed on my thigh so next time you start in on me I can point to it and remind you what you just said?"

“You would, wouldn’t you?” Danny laughs, dropping back down onto the sofa and nodding toward his hands. “Look what I've become—you and your shenanigans have made me into a two-fisted drinker.”

Danny almost laughs at the snort Steve lets loose. “Don't complain. At least you've got two fists to drink from,” Steve says, nodding to his bound arm. “I've only got the one, but then...” and he snatches up one of the beers, somewhat awkwardly wielding the opener with his free hand, pops the cap and then drains a third down in one long swallow. "Always have been a little ambidextrous."

Danny's frowning as he refocuses because while watching Steve's throat working while he swallows—swallows, and oh yeah, he'd like to take a long lick down that long neck of Steve's, and there goes his libido again—it also isn't like he wasn't there at the hospital when they reset Steve's shoulder, either. Not witnessing the actual procedure, no, but he can imagine how painful it must have been like to reset the dislocation (for the second time in as many months, no less). And pain meant painkillers, right? “Hey-hey-hey. What are you doing? You shouldn’t—that's not what you should be drinking after what they gave you at the hospital.”

Steve studies the bottle, holding it up to the light. “What, you mean maybe I should be sticking to light beer?”

Somehow Danny was sure the definition of exasperation could be easily defined merely by showing a picture of Steve. “You’re an idiot at the best of times, you do know this.”

“I’m fine, Danny, really. Only needed the one dose of painkillers they gave me, and I switched to regular Tylenol a while ago.” Steve half rotated his shoulder like it was just fine. Frankly, it looked like it hurt him quite a bit to do it, which it probably did. Idiot.

“Because you’re a superhero, right? Seriously, there's, let's see,” Danny starts ticking off his fingers, “Batman, Spiderman, Superman—all those guys. And then there’s, well, you.”

“Yeah. SuperSeal, right?” and Steve did that rotation thing with his shoulder again which clearly did hurt him this time because it wasn’t at all hard to miss the pinched grimace that erupted. Not at all hard for Danny to eye roll his annoyance in Steve’s direction, either.

“Wrong. Superstupid is more like it. For the love of god sit down before you fall down. Geeze, now you look as pale as I used to be.”

“I do? Really? Because as I recall when I met you, your mainlander pale was pretty much something akin to cadaver white. Walking dead white. Nightmare inducing, even.”

“Nightmare inducing, really. Funny, Steven, because you've been _my_ nightmare every day since…"

"Your daily nightmare? That's kind of an oxymoron."

"You're a moron…and melanoma does not discriminate, I'll have you know. Pale is never a bad thing, just ask any dermatologist. Besides, I seem to have turned a rather golden shade of pale now. See? Look." He holds out an arm to prove that very thing. 

"Oh, okay. I'll look," Steve says, wrapping his free hand around his wrist. 

"Are you sniffing me?"

"Can I check out your tan lines, Danno?"

That did it. Danny feels his libido totally jump back behind the wheel. "Tan lines—or lack thereof, in your case, right?" He laughs at the look on Steve's face. Some cross between altogether lecherous and somewhat embarrassed. "Oh don't look so horrified. You know I know you swim naked out there half the time."

"What? I would never…"

The look on Steve's face, as though Danny's just uncovered some secret thing. Like he hasn't watched Steve trod on out to the beach for his early morning swim from time to time, many mornings sans suit. He runs a hand down the center of Steve's chest, shifting to push him back so he lands flat out on the sofa. Shifts again to move atop him, straddling Steve's hips best he can while wedging one leg into the sofa back. "Like I haven't seen you in all your ripe glory."

"Ripe glory," Steve repeats.

"How is it you can make one little word sound so, I don't know, completely vulgar."

"You spy on me heading to the water after leaving me to believe you're sleeping on those mornings?"

Danny laughs. "Yeah, like you aren't totally aware I watch from the window sometimes. Like I don't know that's why you strut your ass bare naked down to the water, because you know I'm watching and that when you get back I'll be up here all—"

"Horny," Steve finishes.

"I was going to say hungry."

"Hungry, as in for me, you mean."

It's all Danny can do to keep a straight face when he says, "Uh, no, that would be hungry as in for pancakes." Then there's a long beat where their eyes lock, and then Steve's good hand grabs Danny's crotch and squeezes the not so insignificant hard on there.

"Ripe. Danno, you are a lying liar who lies."

"Better than being a fucking fucker who fucks…or wait, maybe that's not such a bad thing to be." Which is pretty much his cue to lean down and plunge his tongue into Steve's already open mouth, devouring as much as he can as fast as he can.

They break for a moment, having to take a breath an annoying necessity in the scheme of current events, and Steve mutters out, "Thought you were tired," and brushes his hand along Danny's cheek.

"I am. Exhausted."

"Yeah, I can tell." Steve moves to sit, and Danny helps him ease the sling up and off, then helps peel away Steve's shirt, fingers tracing lightly along the bronzed skin underneath, drifting lower to undo the button of pants that are more in the way than ever.

His breath catches in his throat like it always does when he gets Steve all naked and compliant and good god, the man has beautiful skin and beautiful muscles and, well…

"So, Danny—what was that you said about being hungry?"

Christ almighty. "You are such a modest and humble sort of fucker, aren’t you?" Steve is grinning up at him while kind of posing there as he's sprawled so—Jesus, yes, so fucking beautifully—along the leather, and Danny's libido just stomps so hard on the accelerator that breathing has turned to panting, his dick starts aching, and he cannot divest himself of clothing fast enough.

"Blow me," Steve replies in answer to Danny's non-question…or it's just a flat out command. Danny wouldn't put it past him and doesn't much care at this point.

"Great minds and all that," Danny agrees, shifting slowly down Steve's body and enjoying the feel of warm skin next to his own, and he's sweating some now which only adds to the slip and slide down Steve's torso.

"I'm kinda sticking," Steve mutters, rising up a bit because he's clearly sweating some, too, and it's making him stick to the leather.

Danny reaches out a palm and presses Steve back down. "Good, it'll keep you glued where I want you." He glances up to find Steve looking down at him, eyes framed by long thick lashes and a look in his eyes that makes Danny want to bite him. Which he does, right there where his groin meets his inner thigh.

"Oh, fuck, Danny," Steve barks, hips jerking, cock bouncing and Danny grabs it and wraps his hand all the way around.

"Talk about ripe," he says as his mouth descends, lips pressing snuggly, and he closes his eyes, mapping out each ridge, each rounded edge with his tongue. Then it's a slow up and down, in and out, licking and sucking and half groaning himself as he listens to Steve's breathing speed up, soft moans drifting down into Danny's own dick.

He pulls away, shifting back to grab his own balls, his other hand keeping a tight control at the base of Steve's cock, just gripping for a moment while he gets his own breathing under control. Steve's hip rise awkwardly up and down and Danny can hear the sound of flesh being peeled off of leather. How is that such a turn on, goddamn.

"Danny, please, just get—"

"Hang on." He can't even open his eyes because if he actually views the expression he's damn sure is spread all over Steve's face he'll never be able to hang on himself.

"What are you—Danny, c'mon, I…I need…" 

He knows what Steve needs, knows what he needs, too, and then it's one more breath, one more inhale through his nose, exhale through his mouth, slowly, calmly as he tries to put the brakes on his own racing heart; shit that Steve can get him going just with a few softly uttered noises. "Okay, okay," he mutters to Steve, "I'm good. You're good. I gotcha." Shifts down again, letting his tongue sink right into that sensitive spot where dick meets balls to then slowly, agonizingly slowly, travel up and along while leaving a thoroughly wet trail in its wake.

He can feel the shiver that ripples through Steve's body, and a hand comes down onto his head, fingers winding their way through to the back of his skull where they thread deeply into those thicker strands of his hair. He responds by taking Steve as deep as he can without gagging, pulling away and leaving a trail of spittle as he does which drizzles onto his fingers making the pull and slide against Steve's cock that much easier, that much dirtier, and he's then working his mouth faster, harder, more suction, tongue laving…

Steve's grip tightens, his body rigid under Danny's, muscles tightening, and Danny is about half way to losing it himself just listening to Steve softly whispering, "Danny, Danny, Danny," over and over.

Then Steve stills, body braced into a hard plane of pure strength and power underneath him as Steve begins his release. Danny swallows him down, one hand wrapped around Steve's erection while his other hand reaches under to stroke his own dick, lips holding steady, mouth firmly encircling the head of Steve's cock, throat working and he's not easing up because just listening to Steve, just thinking about how he's making Steve come is enough to urge his own orgasm to run him over like a fucking freight train, and then he's letting Steve go as he sharply inhales, gasping and then holding his breath when he comes like a motherfucker into his own palm.

"Danny," Steve says between panting breaths, "I wanted to do that to you."

"Okay, I'll let you," he wheezes out. "We'll get right on that again in a minute or two or an hour or five or so."

It's a few minutes of stuttered breaths, Danny's forehead pressing onto Steve's abdomen as the electricity fades from his nerve endings, and he pulls away and looks up, eyes now glued to Steve's face, watching Steve still breathing hard and, fuck, that is a sight he will never tire of seeing.

Steve's closed eyes peel open, watching Danny watching him, and then Steve grins and lets loose a soft laugh. "God, that was—you are—I can't—"

"You are just so wonderfully articulate." Danny can't help but smile as Steve is grinning stupidly at him. He reaches down, snagging what turns out to be Steve's tee shirt—perfect—and cleans them both up while nodding toward him. "How's the shoulder?"

"What shoulder?"

Which, okay. yeah. Traces a finger along Steve's hips, lightly drifting along his spent cock. "See? What did I tell you. No tan lines here." Presses a kiss to Steve's stomach. "So what, you really think I hadn't noticed all these months? I'm a detective; I notice everything about everything."

"Even my tan lines."

"Or lack thereof."

Steve's hand is drifting down, he's laughing, and Danny catches it in his own, interlocking their fingers.

"And you said you were tired," Steve whispers softly, lips tracing over Danny's forehead.

"Well, apparently I had a resurgence. Besides that was the best way to end the day from hell," Danny says, shifting away from Steve's damaged shoulder. Steve's hand presses him down toward his other side, and he gently rests his head over Steve's very tanned chest. "Okay, Steve. Just for just a minute. Then we need to move. Get up, get your sling back on."

"Nah, we're good right here. Besides, I can't go anywhere. I think my back has totally adhered; I'm stuck to the leather but good."

Steve's eyes are closed, a soft smile tracing along his lips; it's clearly apparent that Steve is not moving any time soon, so Danny lets his eyes close, barely registering the throw blanket Steve's somehow conjured up from somewhere because it wasn’t there a minute ago.

"Wait, where'd you get that? Yet another trick up your sleeve?"

Fingers play with his hair and Danny feels himself drifting. "Yeah, Danno. I got moves you can't even imagine."

He laughs, breath making Steve's three or four chest hairs wave with his exhalations. "You sure about that? I can imagine an awful lot."

Steve is grinning with his eyes closed. "Oh, you have no idea. Trust me."

"Trust you. Like I don’t live enough on the edge with you as it is."

Steve's drifting off now as well. "Don't worry, I'll catch you if you start to fall off," Danny hears him say, immediately followed by Steve's light snoring in his ear.

"Yeah, Steve. I know you will," he says softly, eyes closing as he registers the rain still pelting against the windows, the warmth of tanned skin under his cheek, the rise and fall of Steve's chest. "After I haul your ass up first." 

End.


End file.
